See no Devil
by dragonwriter24cmf
Summary: In the wake of the Christmas Bowl, Hiruma's swift healing takes it's toll. Mamori, Doburoku and Musashi team up to tend the fallen quarterback, but what will they do, when illness reveals secrets a devil might wish to remain hidden? T for Hiruma's language.
1. Chapter 1

**See No Devil**

**Summary:**In the wake of the Christmas Bowl, Hiruma's swift healing takes it's toll. When he falls ill, Mamori, Musashi and Doburoku team up to tend to the fallen quarterback. But illness has a way of getting past even the tightest defenses a person can keep up. Can they deal with Hiruma, unmasked? What exactly will it lead to, when the devil is undone?

**Chapter One: Something Off  
**

There was something...off, about Hiruma. Watching him, Mamori wasn't sure exactly what it was that was making her nervous. He was standing out on the field, as always. Yelling at the players, usually with insulting terms and curse words, as always. He still had a rather large caliber weapon in hand, and was randomly firing several shot bursts into the air, at the ground behind the players, at the ground in front of the players, and anywhere else he happened to think was a good target at the time.

Mamori sighed. The Christmas Bowl was over. They were the National Champions. A normal person would have thought that they'd take time out. Relax. Celebrate. Bask in the glory. And maybe, just maybe, think a little more on their schooling and plans for next year. But no. Hiruma had gotten wind of an international event again, the Youth World Cup this time. And so, less than two weeks after their impressive victory over the Teikoku Alexanders, they were back at it. With even more team members than ever, since it was an international event, and Hiruma was recruiting everyone he could get his hands on to fill out a solid team, with supports and back-ups this time. What amazed her wasn't his recruiting, but that every single one of them was willing, even eager, to be in this. They actually looked happy to be out in the frigid weather, chasing balls and hammering into each other like train wrecks gone mad. In fact, several players that hadn't been recruited were turning up, joining practice with friendly advice, shouted suggestions, or as partners in the effort.

After several months training with the Devil Bats, she understood the adrenalin. Certainly, she was cheering for them. Absolutely, she was diving into the work of manager. But she still thought it was a little mad.

Her gaze slipped back to Hiruma. He seemed as enthusiastic as ever, if not more so. But she'd spent months observing him. She'd learned to catch the little tells that said something was off. Subtle, because he'd rather shoot himself in the foot with his own gun rather than admit to any weakness. And her instincts were restless, insisting there was something off about his behavior.

He was chasing Sena, Monta and several others down the field. She checked his stride. He wasn't limping, so he hadn't hurt his knee again. She watched the way he carried the gun. Both hands, and level and steady. Not his back or his arm, then. Or his shoulder. He wasn't favoring his right arm either, which meant his previously broken bone wasn't bothering him. Though that, she would have known, since he sometimes permitted her to bind it, if it happened to be aching, and she happened to catch him nursing it.

She heard the click of an empty ammo cartridge. Hiruma made a face, then shouted something that sounded rather like "Run you chibis!". Then he turned and made his way to the bench, to the small armory that was settled there, on a canvas to keep it out of the snow.

Mamori frowned. She hadn't noticed, but...why was his artillery sitting on the bench? He usually carried it, unless he'd set it down to work on his passing practice. But in that case, he'd not be carrying the gun, either. Her concern strengthened. She watched him discard the clip with a small snarl of disgust on his face, then pick up another and jam it in. It occurred to her then, that the gun he was carrying was a somewhat smaller caliber than his normal preferred weapon. Still semi-automatic (his favorite kind), but not as big or as heavy as the one he usually hauled to practice. It wasn't even as heavy as the one he usually took to game days. It looked more like the lighter model he'd made her shoot once or twice.

She felt something very akin to an alarm bell going off inside her head.

Hiruma turned back to the field. "Hey, you damn slackers, get back to pushing! Get to work, you freakin lazy porkers!" That was directed at Kurita and Gaou, who had taken a break from the deadlock they'd been locked into for the past twenty minutes of shoving. "Yo, damn monkey...I didn't say stop running yet!" He pulled the gun off his shoulder and began firing, causing Monta, Riku and Sena to jump and race down the track. Even Shin, running at his usual calm pace, picked up a little.

If she hadn't been sitting right next to him, she never would have heard it. The low rough cough that didn't come from the gun. One, two, three...four rough breaths. If she hadn't been sitting next to where he stood, watching him, she wouldn't have seen the jerk of his shoulders and upper body. She knew most people would assume it was recoil from the gun, but she knew him. Hiruma didn't notice recoil from anything less than a rocket launcher.

He stopped shooting, and hoisted the gun back to his shoulder. "Keh." he made another face, popped a bubble on his gum, then spoke. "Oi, damn manager. How's the analysis coming?"

She looked down at her clipboard, where she'd been taking notes on everyone's progress, and writing ideas on how to strengthen this or that element, or compensate for this or that individual's weakness. "We've got some fairly good data already, and I've begun ranking the statistics you asked me for."

"Keh. Fine. I'll have data on the American players by the end of the week, so be fucking prepared." He popped another bubble.

"Of course." Mamori sighed. Then she looked up at him. "Hiruma-kun..."

"What?" The green eyes slanted toward her.

"Just now...it sounded like you were...coughing." She felt a rock in her stomach. Sure, she'd never hesitated to confront him over an injury before, but this was more like looking for information. She wasn't sure what was going on. Before, she'd always been fairly certain.

Hiruma snorted. "Idiot. The cold and condensation in the air is just screwing with the gun." Before she could ask anything further, he walked away, heading back out to the field.

Mamori watched him walk away, thinking about his words. It sounded like a plausible explanation. The sounds had been rather masked by gunfire after all. But she couldn't shake the knowledge that if there was anything Hiruma understood besides football and manipulation, it was guns. Weapons in general, really, particularly anything that could produce a violent explosion. He would have known that the cold and moisture would mess with his weapon. And he wasn't the type to have ignored it, so he had to have taken precautions. Extra oil, or whatever it was you did to protect a firearm from cold and wet. No...she didn't think it was the gun.

"You noticed." Mamori jumped. Musashi had come in from his part-time at the construction company and was standing beside her, dressed in his uniform.

"Musashi-kun." She took a moment to calm her racing heart and slow her breathing. He was gentleman enough not to notice how she'd jumped. Instead, he was staring at the practice field. At Hiruma. She followed his gaze. "Hiruma-kun..."

"He's sick. But he's trying to hide it." Plain simple fact, spoken low enough that their conversation couldn't be heard, but audible nonetheless. A light movement, that might have been a frown, twitched the corner of his mouth. "He pushed his body to it's limit, trying to heal that arm in time. Then again in the game. Now this. With the cold and as damp as it is...even Hiruma has a limit."

She stared at the figure on the field, the number One emblazoned on the back. Her heart sank. She'd been hoping she'd imagined it. "Do you think it's bad?"

Musashi shrugged. "Who knows? I can't tell. I've only ever seen him sick once before, and Kurita and I couldn't tell how bad it really was." Another shrug. "Could be a simple cold. Could be pneumonia."

Mamori swallowed. "How can we tell?"

He shook his head. "No way to tell. He either recovers, or he passes out and dies. He'll never tell us anything until he's actually too weak to stand up straight. But it might not go that far."

She bit her lip. She and Hiruma clashed over a lot of things. Despite how she'd come to respect him, she still sometimes thought he could be a noisy, arrogant, foul-mouthed jerk. But the idea of him being sick, especially that sick, made her worried. For the team in general and him in particular. "What do we do?"

Musashi shrugged again. "We wait. Until something happens. And watch him, as much as we can." Then he calmly pulled his helmet out from under his arm, strapped it on, and trotted out to the field to join the practice. Hiruma shouted something impolite at him and gestured, and he ran over to drill with some of the others.

Mamori watched a few moments longer. But as much as she hated to admit it, Musashi was right. With someone as stubborn as Hiruma, there really was nothing to do but wait it out until he either recovered or collapsed. She watched him run down the field for something, then sighed and turned back to her clipboard. She had work to do, after all. Still, she couldn't help but keep one eye on him as she wrote.

**_Author's Note:_**_ I read the manga for the last three games after I watched the anime, and t__his just sort of popped into my head. Hiruma always seems so bloody invincible, but everyone has a stopping point. And no, this is not planned as Hiruma/Mamori specific, for anyone who is wondering._

_Hope you enjoyed the story so far.  
_


	2. Chapter 2: Emergeny Plans and Collapse

**Chapter Two: Collapse and Emergency Plan  
**

The next two days passed in much the same fashion. The players practiced, Mamori took notes, and she and Musashi kept a careful, unobtrusive as possible, eye on the quarterback of the Deimon Devil Bats. Mamori thought Hiruma would have noticed (he noticed almost everything else that went on within a thirty yard radius of him) and made a scathing comment or three, but he didn't. She wondered why he didn't speak up, if he did notice. The fact that he might be sick enough to _not_ notice their concern made her more concerned than ever.

On the third day, he wasn't carrying a firearm, and she noticed that Doburoku was also watching the quarterback more than usual. Again, Hiruma didn't comment on their increased watchfulness. He seemed completely oblivious to it, arguing tactics and pass routes with The Kid and Takami, and throwing the ball around with the various receivers. He and Sakuraba had worked out something that he was calling the Devil's Mountain, a combination of his own Laser Pass, and Takami's Everest Pass. It was a dual effort, Hiruma teaching Takami the trick to throwing it, while Monta explained to Sakuraba the finer points of catching a ball that was going at something like 70 miles an hour and rotating like a cyclone gone sideways. Taka Honjo had arrived a few minutes earlier, and was sharing tips with both of them. She honestly had no idea if they could get it to work or not, but they certainly looked determined to try.

She watched Hiruma, gesturing, throwing footballs and laughing like a psychopath. He looked about the same as he did any other practice he participated in, and she wasn't sure what it was that seemed off. What it was that was still making her nervous. Then she realized.

He was laughing, from the expression on his face, but she couldn't hear him. Even with the noise of the others practicing, she should have been able to hear that high, demonic laugh over the field. After all, he'd fine-tuned it to be audible in the middle of a thunderstorm with a stadium full of people. If he were really that excited, she'd hear it. Half the school would hear it. She'd see people cringing in the windows, wondering what he was going to blow up this time.

And he wasn't shouting. Hiruma liked to yell, particularly when he was getting into the mood of things, really picking up steam. She hadn't heard even one 'Ya-ha' out of his mouth, and only minimal orders, when he absolutely had to shout.

"I see you've noticed it as well." Doburoku was standing beside her, and he wasn't even drinking out of his sake jug. He turned to look at her, dark eyes completely serious, and not a little worried. "Hiruma-kun."

She nodded, and turned her eyes back to the figure on the field. "I thought he might not be carrying the rifle because he's practicing with Takami-kun and the others, but it's more than that. He's not..." She swallowed. "He's not as loud as he usually is." She'd often commented on how much she wanted the quarterback to tone down his behavior, but now that he was quieter...it wasn't like him, and it made her worried. Annoying as the constant cursing, screaming, and shooting could be, that was just Hiruma. Part of the nature of the man and, though she didn't really want to admit it, something a great number of people relied on. The Devil Bats, at least, took an odd sort of pride out of their leader's rather unorthodox approach to training. The rest of the teams seemed to find it somewhat amusing, and somewhat appalling, but she'd yet to hear anyone complain about it. In fact, she'd heard some of them express a grudging admiration for him.

Out on the field, Hiruma gestured and said something to Takami. The taller quarterback nodded, and made a reply. Hiruma smirked, then turned and walked toward the bench. "Yo, damn manager! See anything?" He meant about the plays, or the players.

She sighed. "Hiruma-kun, don't call me that." He smirked at her. She sighed and looked at the notes she'd been taking. "I'm still outlining everyone's strengths and weaknesses, and what to do to improve. I've also begun looking over the data you gave me on the American players, and comparing them to ours, in terms of strengths and weaknesses. Unfortunately, we don't know much about the coaches, or their likely strategies. And we have very little information on several of their players, except for individuals like Panther-kun."

"Keh." Hiruma snickered. "You need to work harder, damn manager."

Mamori blinked. Hiruma was still grinning, but his voice sounded...hoarse. Not the way it sounded after he'd been screaming through a three hour practice. More rough, raspy. He smirked. "I want solid data by the end of practice. Kekeke." Before she could respond, he took a drink out of his water bottle, slammed it down and strode back onto the field. "Oi, fucking glasses, you gotta get your shoulder further back than that! Throw from the waist, idiot!" He cackled again.

Mamori frowned, listening to Hiruma's voice, the tone and the laughter. The past few months had made her nearly an expert at reading his tone. Only the original Devil Bats, Musashi and Kurita, did it better. She played the last few moments over in her mind, matching them up with his tone as he dashed back into practice.

He sounded hoarse, and by the time he reached Takami, she couldn't hear him again. And his laughter wasn't as high pitched or well enunciated as it usually was. Less like laughter, and more like...

He wasn't really laughing. Her hands clenched on the clipboard and she felt as if she'd gotten rocks in her stomach. He was coughing, and trying to use his usual manic laughter to disguise it. It was just like the game against Hakushuu, when he'd been trying to cover up how much pain his broken arm was causing him, and how weak he really was.

She watched him out on the field, that wide manic grin that usually accompanied his laughter on his face. If even a quarter of the time he'd spent looking like that today was coughing, then he was in trouble. _Hiruma-kun...just __how __sick __are __you?_

"It isn't good." Doburoku spoke softly. "Hiruma has been avoiding me all day, so I haven't managed to ask him about it. But based on his behavior, I suspect he is very ill."

She nodded. "He's coughing a lot, and...I thought he might not be carrying his gun because he was practicing but...what if...what if Hiruma-kun can't hold the gun?" She swallowed. Hiruma too weak to hold a gun steadily, or at all, was a serious problem.

Judging by the way Doburoku's eyes widened, he felt the same way. "If that's the case...something needs to be done. Otherwise, we'll end up with our best quarterback unable to play for the game. If not worse."

Mamori nodded. He was right. From the way Hiruma was acting, they'd be lucky if he didn't put himself in a hospital again. And it obviously wasn't getting better, as she and Musashi had hoped. She bit her lip, thinking through all the various strategies they could use to handle the problem. Normally, she would have trusted a player to take himself to the doctor, but...this was Hiruma. She thought for a moment, then spoke softly to the trainer. "Doburoku sensei...could you and Musashi-kun make sure the players leave quickly after practice? And that you and Musashi-kun are there to help?"

He nodded. "Of course." His gaze turned back to the field. "But what if Hiruma leaves early as well?"

She shook her head. "He won't." Then she lifted her hands and called out. "Hiruma-kun!"

The quarterback turned. She lifted her hands and flashed him a quick code. **'Important ****info'.****'Questions'.****'After ****practice, ****clubhouse?'**

Hiruma nodded and flashed back an **'OK'**, followed by **'After ****the ****fucking ****idiots ****leave'**. Mamori stifled a smile. That was exactly what she wanted. Of course, Hiruma would guess something was up if she grinned at him like that, particularly after that sentence. So she scowled at him. "Hiruma-kun!"

He smirked and went back to practice, throwing yet another Devil Laser Bomb at Sakuraba. The taller receiver was beginning to get the hang of it, she noticed. She turned back to Doburoku, who was staring at her with respect in his black eyes. "He'll be there." She glanced at the slender figure. "I don't want to confront him about this in front of the players."

He shook his head. "No. He would be very angry if you did. This is a good plan, as long as he doesn't collapse first."

An hour later, practice was over for the day. Mamori joined the others in the clubhouse, retiring to her own little area while she worked on paperwork. Doburoku offered Kurita some money, to treat the team to bowls of hot oden at their favorite noodle stand. Not surprisingly, everyone was more than enthusiastic about the idea. Even usual stoics like Shin and Gaou and Takami looked interested. Musashi was the only one who declined, saying he had to see to something else.

"Mamori-neechan?" Mamori looked up when Sena called her name. He and Monta were already at the door, with Suzuna right beside them. "Aren't you coming?"

"Not right now, Sena-kun." She smiled. "I have to finish up some work and have a word with Hiruma-kun. But I'll try to join you later, okay?"

"Okay." The younger boy looked a bit uncertain, but after a second, he turned and left with the others.

Moments later, Hiruma emerged from the shower area, dressed in clean clothing, with a jacket slung haphazardly over his shoulders. He frowned. "So, what did you want to talk to me about, damn manager?" His gaze flicked away. "Make it fast. I've got work to do."

Mamori nodded. "I know. But I've been watching practice and comparing notes, and I have a major concern about one of the players."

"Keh." Hiruma made a face. "Don't worry. The fucking shrimp is doing fine. Even against that damned Panther, he'll do well enough."

She shook her head. "It's not Sena-kun. One of the others." She waited until he turned to look at her. "You, Hiruma-kun."

She saw his eyes widen in the fraction of a second before his expression settled into it's usual calm mask. "Keh. What the hell are you talking about, damn manager?"

"You." She met his eyes, feeling frustration coil within her at his stubbornness. "Hiruma-kun, you aren't well!"

"Don't know what you're fucking talking about, idiot." He smirked. "I told you...the cold and condensation messes with the damn gun."

"That might be true, but that's not what's wrong." She raised a hand and began to tick points off on her fingers. "You aren't carrying your gun. You haven't shouted at the boys for two practices now, unless you absolutely have to. Your voice is hoarse. And you pretend to laugh, just so you can hide the fact that you're coughing!" She glared at him. "You need to see a doctor!"

"Like hell." The smirk had vanished from his face, leaving his expression cold and forbidding. "I can decide if I want to shout at the players or not. The cold screws with my gun, and we can't afford a fucking misfire injuring someone. I've been shouting at people every damn day for the past nine fucking months. Sometimes even I get a fucking sore throat, especially in this damn weather."

She almost believed the bluff. But she could hear his breathing picking up, just a little, and see the tension in his shoulders. It gave him away. Even in their most vehement fights, he didn't need to breathe any harder. She might have been uncertain if it were just the tension, but that slight increase was enough. Besides, when she looked closer, she could see a faint sheen on his brow, as if he were sweating.

His glare was daring her to keep going. She met it calmly. "What about the coughing, Hiruma-kun?"

He all but sneered at her. "I told you, you're mistaken." He turned to leave.

She knew if he left, they'd never catch him a second time. Before she could really even think about it, she grabbed the nearest folder from her table and smacked him across the head and shoulder with it. The fact that he didn't see it coming, especially after all the times they'd clashed, told her more than she wanted to know about his physical condition.

Hiruma spun around, real anger in his eyes, and a snarl worthy of a devil on his face. "What the fuck! You...damn manager..."

Coughing hit him mid sentence, and Hiruma doubled up with a gasp. Mamori watched, horrified, as the spasms tore through the lean form, shaking him like a leaf. Hiruma managed to get one hand up to cover his mouth, his breath shortening to sharp, shallow pants, but even that didn't stop the relentless hacking. The quarterback staggered, then fell forward to his knees, still shaking.

Mamori leaped forward to catch him, shocked by the violence of the fit. She'd hoped to catch him off guard enough to prove her point, but she hadn't guessed it would be this bad. It frightened her, how much he'd obviously been suppressing his illness. "Hiruma-kun!"

One hand came up to shove her away. Caught by surprise, she fell backward. Hiruma got his free hand up on the table, and shoved himself to his feet, still coughing. "Damn...mana...ger." Then he staggered again and fell forward.

Musashi came in through the door at a run, just in time to catch the quarterback's falling body. This time, Hiruma didn't even try to break his fall as he crashed against the kicker, his arms going limp at his sides and his knees folding underneath him. Musashi caught him around the shoulders, shock and concern on his rugged features. "Hiruma! Hiruma!"

Hiruma didn't answer him. Doburoku moved forward from the doorway. "He's unconscious." One lean hand reached out and touched Hiruma's forehead. The trainer's eyes widened. "He's..."

"He's burning." Musashi's voice was soft, almost frightened. "This fever..." He set Hiruma down, into the cradle of his arms. Even out cold, the quarterback was breathing far too fast, his breath quick and shallow as if he'd been doing sprints. Musashi's expression tightened into a scowl. "Hiruma...what have you done now, you bastard?"

_**Author's Note: **So...our favorite quarterback is out for the count. But not without being as stubborn as usual. Hope to update soon._


	3. Chapter 3: The Repair Team

**Chapter Three: The Repair Team**

There was silence between the three of them for a moment. Then Doburoku rose to his feet. "We must get him to a doctor. We can take my truck."

Musashi nodded and rose to his feet, Hiruma's limp form cradled gently in his arms. "Mamori..." He tilted his head. "Get some of the large towels. We need to wrap him against the cold."

Mamori nodded and dashed into the storage area. There were several large towels in there, for players to dry off with after a wet practice, or to warm up in. In fact, she even found a few left where she'd set them out to warm up, so they could relieve themselves of the chill after practice. She grabbed two and ran back to the main room. Carefully, she draped them over Hiruma's still form. Musashi nodded, then jerked his head at the locker room. "Kurita has a spare scarf in there."

Normally, she would have balked about borrowing someone else's belongings. Now though...well, it was Kurita's scarf or hers, and hers was bright pink. Kurita's, at least, was a neutral cream color, with some red on it. She snatched it up, then raced back into the room, and wound it around the quarterback's throat and face, to loosely cover his nose and mouth.

Hiruma stirred restlessly, and she froze. Musashi stiffened. "We'd better get him in the truck now. If he wakes first, we'll have a fight on our hands." As if it had been planned, they both heard the cough of Doburoku's engine. Musashi raced outside. "Open the door old man!"

Doburoku reached back and shoved the driver side back door open. Musashi angled himself sideways and awkwardly shoved himself through it, working hard not to slam Hiruma's head into the door-frame. It cost him a graze on the shoulder, but he managed. Mamori dashed around and dropped herself into Doburoku's passenger seat. The old trainer blinked at her. "Musashi and I can handle him."

She shook her head. "A team manager is responsible for being up-to-date on the condition of all the team members, and seeing to their welfare and health, particularly when preparing for a game. Besides...Hiruma-kun isn't 18 yet. Therefore, in the event of a medical emergency, particularly where the patient may be incapacitated, it is required to have either a parent, guardian, coach, or manager there to verify treatment. We don't know where Hiruma-kun's parents are, and even though you're our trainer, Doburoku-sensei, you're not listed officially by the school. In order for Hiruma-kun to be taken care of, you'll need me to speak to the hospital, as the team manager."

Musashi nodded. "She's right. If Hiruma's unconscious, he can't order them around. We need her."

Doburoku nodded. "All right then! Hang on!" He and Mamori snapped on seat-belts. Then he locked the doors and gunned the engine.

The lurch of the car elicited a grunt from the backseat. Hiruma stirred again, then coughed once or twice. Musashi shifted his grip subtly, pinning the quarterback lightly so Hiruma couldn't get at the door, or kick it open.

Hiruma's breathing picked up, shifting into slightly faster panting. Then the green eyes opened, blinked once or twice. "What...the fuck?" Even under the scarf, the sharp frown was visible. One hand came up, to yank the material free from his face. "What the hell is this?"

"Kurita's scarf." Musashi spoke calmly.

Hiruma's mouth twisted, as if he'd swallowed a lemon. "Figures. Smells like the damn fatty." He gasped, choked for a few seconds, then jerked his head up as he felt the restraints Musashi had on him. "What the fuck are you doing...old man kicker?" He gasped for breath again, then visibly forced his body under control.

"You passed out talking to Mamori-chan." Doburoku spoke calmly. "We're taking you to the hospital, to see a doctor."

Anger lit in his eyes. "Like...fucking...hell, you are!" He jerked upright as far as he could in the seat. "I told you...damn manager...I don't need a fucking doctor!"

"You passed out!" Musashi's eyes were blazing, every bit as fierce as Hiruma's. "If Mamori hadn't asked us to stay behind to help her, you would have hit your head. You might have gotten a concussion! You want that, Hiruma?"

"Keh. I don't need a doctor." Hiruma's voice had dropped, become almost dangerously calm. But he was sweating again, and his breathing was still harsh, too loud in the car.

"Hiruma-kun!" Mamori twisted. "You can barely even sit up!"

"Mind your...own fucking business...damn manager." he glared at her.

"Shut up!" Musashi's hand tightened, startling Hiruma into looking into his eyes. The kicker's gaze was hard. "You're going to see a doctor. Unless...you want to end up like my father, is that it?" Musashi's eyes hardened still further. "That's what he did. He worked until he collapsed. He's still in the hospital. You want to go the same way? If you care so much about the damn game, then stop risking everything for your stupid pride!"

Mamori's eyes were wide. So were Doburoku's. Hiruma was staring at the other youth as if Musashi had just struck him across the face. The kicker took a couple deep breaths, then turned away. "Doburoku, stop." The trainer immediately pulled over. They sat in silence a few moments, then Musashi spoke, his voice once more calm. "Well, Hiruma. What are you going to do?"

There was silence in the truck for a few more moments. Then Hiruma slouched against the seat, a bitter, weary expression on his face. "Oi, you damn lush." He pulled a phone out of his pocket, tapped a few keys, and tossed it forward. "Drive to that fucking address. Damn manager...call the second number, and tell the guy who answers that we're coming. Yoichi Hiruma."

Mamori nodded and dialed the number. It rang twice, then picked up. "Doctor Asano Yukito speaking."

"Yes, Doctor Asano? My name is Anezaki Mamori. I'm very sorry to trouble you after hours, but I have a friend who is very ill, and he said he'd only see you. He told us to go to your office. I was wondering if I could possibly request that you see him for a few moments? His name is Hiruma Yoichi."

There was a pause for a moment, then the voice spoke. "Hiruma-kun, is it? All right. I'll meet you at the clinic."

Mamori felt almost light-headed with relief. "Thank you, Doctor. We should be there in just a few minutes." She hung up, and passed the phone back to the quiet quarterback. "He said he'd meet us there."

"Keh." Hiruma coughed lightly once or twice, then subsided, turning his face away from them to look out the window. After a moment, he spoke. "Let go of me, damn old man kicker."

The rest of the drive was made in silence. Hiruma's brooding quiet killed any desire for conversation. Musashi let him go, but Mamori could see the way he settled in the seat, poised to grab Hiruma if the other tried anything. But Hiruma didn't move, not even to finish unwrapping the scarf from around his neck, or the towels from where they were draped haphazardly over him. He simply slouched in the seat, his breath coming in short, quiet pants, his normally pale face drawn with anger and slightly flushed with fever.

Finally, they pulled up in front of a small clinic, tucked back only a few blocks from the hospital. There was a small vehicle parked in front, and the lights were on. Doburoku pulled in and killed the engine. "This is it?"

"Yeah." Hiruma stared at the door for a moment, then made a disgusted face and pushed the door of the truck open. He stepped out, slammed the door hard enough to rattle the glass, and moved forward. He hadn't gotten two steps before Musashi and Doburoku moved to flank him, standing on either side. Mamori debated a moment, then stepped behind him. Hiruma's face twisted in a dark scowl. "Keh. Back off...fucking idiots."

"No." Musashi met the glare with his own calm stare. "You passed out at the clubhouse. I'm not letting you risk hitting your head again."

Hiruma scowled at him, then stepped forward and kicked the door open. The other three followed.

A slender man, about Mamori's height, with close-cut gray and black hair, was standing in the entry way, studying a folder. He looked up at the sound of the door slamming open, but he didn't look either surprised or annoyed. "Ah. Hiruma-kun."

"Damn doctor." Hiruma stopped a few feet away. Surprisingly, he didn't seem nearly as antagonistic as Mamori had expected, given his argument in the car.

Dark eyes gave the quarterback a quick looking over. "I see why your friends were so concerned." He gestured. "All right, this way." He led the way to an exam room, and indicated a table. "You know the rules, Hiruma-kun."

"Keh." Hiruma's lip curled in a sneer, but after a moment he turned and dropped his jacket onto a chair, followed by four pistols, and what would have been a shocking amount of ammo, if they hadn't all been used to him. Actually, what shocked Mamori was that there was so little of it, this time. She saw Musashi's eyebrow raise, just a fraction, and guessed he felt the same way. Hiruma turned back around, and the doctor gestured to the exam table. Hiruma made another face, but settled onto it, scowling. "Get this over with."

"Of course." The man looked him over again. "How is your arm?"

"It's fine. Damn thing's healed, just like...it was...supposed to." Hiruma shuddered as coughing fit hit him, the change in environment from truck to outside to inside making his breathing difficult.

The doctor frowned. "How long have you been coughing like that?"

Hiruma scowled. Mamori bit her lip. She knew he didn't want to discuss it. She hovered for a moment, indecisive, then spoke up. "Hiruma-kun's been coughing for at least three days. This evening, he passed out after practice, and he has a fever. He was unconscious for at least five minutes."

"Ah." A small worried crease formed between the doctor's eyebrows. "That sounds serious. You were right to bring him to me then." He turned. "Why did you not come to see me earlier? After the warning I gave you..." He shook his head at the scowl on Hiruma's face. "Never mind. Let me have a look at you."

The rest of them watched in silence as the doctor checked Hiruma's temperature, his blood pressure, his heartbeat, and his breathing. Surprisingly, Hiruma submitted to being touched by the man. His face was set in a mask of indifference, but Mamori could see the tension in his shoulders. Still, he did as the doctor directed.

Finally, the doctor put a stethoscope to his back. "Breathe in, deep." Hiruma inhaled, and the doctor frowned. "I said deep. Like you were planning on shouting at your team, Hiruma-kun."

Hiruma inhaled again. Then his breath hitched and he coughed. His body doubled up as he gasped, trying to stop the racking, choking coughs that tore through him again. Mamori felt a lump in her throat. "Hiruma-kun..."

Hiruma gasped again, and words emerged. "Wa..ter...damn...mana...ger."

Mamori nodded and moved to the sink, filling one of the small paper cups from the side. She almost went over to pat his back and help him sip it, as she would with Sena, but then Hiruma looked up, scowl in place, and held out his hand. Carefully, she placed the cup in it. After a moment, his breathing steadied, and he drank. Silence filled the room as the coughing faded, and Hiruma slowly relaxed.

Doctor Asano waited a minute more, then stepped forward. "Again, Hiruma-kun. Not so fast or so deep this time."

Hiruma inhaled, then exhaled. Mamori saw a frown on the doctor's face, and worry in his eyes. The doctor moved the stethoscope, and repeated the procedure, and the frown deepened. By the time he'd finished the process, chest and back, he looked almost alarmed. Mamori almost expected him to say something, but he only crossed to the chart sitting on the counter nearby, and made some notes.

Hiruma watched him a moment, then spoke, his voice harsh and rasping. "Well?"

The doctor frowned. "You're very ill, Hiruma-kun. You have a severe upper respiratory infection, and it's settled in your lungs." He looked up at the young man. "I warned you to take proper precautions. The treatment you underwent for your arm puts an enormous amount of stress on the body. Because your body is strained and your immune system is challenged, this will be far more difficult to treat."

"Keh." Hiruma made a face. "Do whatever you have to, fucking doctor. I need to be in shape for the World Cup."

Doctor Asano shook his head. "You are very reckless. Well, wait here. I need to get the prescriptions for you to fill, and a shot to help offset the worst of the immediate symptoms." he turned and left the room.

Hiruma made another noise of disgust. "Damn doctor."

Asano returned a few minutes later holding two needles, and a number of sheets of paper. "All right. I have them here." He set the papers down, then gestured.

Hiruma scowled, but rolled up one sleeve. "What the hell are those?"

The doctor shrugged. "General antibiotics, and something to knock out your symptoms." He moved forward and uncapped the needles. "Sit still." He prepped the shot, then expertly stuck it in Hiruma's arm and injected him.

The quarterback cursed, but stayed still for the second shot. Then he rolled his sleeve down. "Damn needle."

The doctor shrugged. "If you'd come in sooner, you might not have needed it."

Hiruma scowled. "I was taking cold medication."

Mamori blinked. She hadn't seen anything of the sort. But then, with Hiruma, she wasn't likely to. He tended to be secretive.

"Yes, well, it wasn't anywhere near enough, apparently." The doctor picked up the sheaf of papers he'd laid aside. "These are your medications. Antibiotics, a secondary to support your system and ward off any viruses, and an inhaler to help ease your breathing. I want your word, Hiruma-kun, that you'll take them. Finish all of them."

"Keh." Hiruma stood. "Fine."

The doctor nodded. "Good enough. I'll have your friends pick them up for you on the way home."

Hiruma's mouth twisted in annoyance. "I can...pick up my own damn...medications." He blinked. Then a glare crossed his expression. "Damn...doctor..." He exhaled in a long breath and crumpled forward.

Musashi caught him. Doburoku stared at him, then turned to the medic. "Doctor, is he all right?"

A small smile appeared on the doctor's face. "It's fine. I just slipped him something to ensure he'd stay quiet for a while. He'll wake in a few hours."

Mamori stared, stunned. "You knocked him unconscious? Is that safe?"

"No. But it was the best way to handle him." He shrugged.

Musashi snorted. "He won't thank you."

"No. But it's part of our agreement." The doctor saw the surprise on all three of their faces, and the smile reappeared. "Hiruma-kun and I have an arrangement. I am, barring an absolute emergency, available whenever he needs me. However, I will do what is required to get him well as quick as possible, regardless of his reaction." He studied the sleeping figure in Musashi's arms. "He won't thank me, but he knows that if I drugged him, it was for the best. Although..." He sighed. "Normally I wouldn't resort to that sort of tactic, even for a patient as difficult as he is. But this case..."

Doburoku moved forward. "What exactly is wrong with Hiruma? And why did you knock him unconscious?"

A small smile creased the doctor's mouth, then disappeared. "I knocked him unconscious because he will not like what I have to say. He will, in fact, be most vehemently against it. I didn't want him to walk out before I was finished, nor threaten the three of you into ignoring me." He tilted his head at the small pile of weapons on the chair.

Musashi frowned. "His condition is that serious?"

Asano nodded. "It is." He leaned back against the counter. "Hiruma-kun has a super-infection, and a very severe one, and congestion in his lungs. Because of the treatment he put himself through, to repair his broken arm, and the strain of playing that last game, his immune system has been over-strained, and his body can't handle the problem nearly as well as it should." He shook his head. "Even under ordinary conditions, this would be a serious matter. In his condition..." He sighed. "If it were any other patient, I would have them checked into the hospital."

A wry smile twitched Musashi's mouth. "Wouldn't work with him."

"No. The last time I tried, he checked himself out a day later, after terrorizing most of the nursing staff. I had to replace three people. I can't afford it."

Mamori blinked. "That was why you came up with the mobile oxygen tank?"

Doctor Asano smiled again. "It was his idea, but that was why I approved and implemented it, yes." he shook his head. "The point is, if I try to put him in a hospital, even the most private facility I know, he'll fight it, most likely leave, and traumatize who knows how many of the staff before he gets out. However, with his condition as it currently is, and is likely to be over the next few days, he cannot be left alone."

"What do you mean?"

"His body is weak. The antibiotics will help, but his system won't be able to do much to support them. And even if it could, it would still take a few days before the levels of medication build high enough to do him any good. In short, he's going to get worse before he gets better. It may take as long as a week before his system recovers enough to start showing improvement, never mind actual recovery. During that time, he needs plenty of liquids, but most importantly, he needs to rest. And until his fever breaks and the coughing begins to clear, he needs to be monitored for secondary infections, viruses, and to make sure he keeps quiet." He lifted the stack of papers in his hands. "I've included those instructions, with multiple copies, here in his prescriptions."

"He won't like that." Doburoku was frowning.

Mamori winced. She remembered how difficult it had been, trying just to tend the damaged knee he'd obtained on the Death March. She'd had to put a knee on his foot to get him to hold still, and even then it had been a battle. Forcing him to take care of his arm had been worse, though he'd relented a little after the game. Trying to saddle him with a full time nurse would be a nightmare. Even if they did what the doctor was obviously hoping they'd do, and took care of him themselves.

Musashi looked back at the slim form he was still supporting. "No wonder you knocked him out to tell us. He's going to hate this."

Mamori looked at the quarterback, lying limp in his friends arms. It would be easier, she thought, if they had the team to help. But Hiruma was such a private person, she knew telling the team would only anger and embarrass him further. More than that, it meant a high likelihood that the members of the other teams training with them for the World Cup would find out about his condition. With it being winter break, and the special dispensations they all had from the schools for training, it wouldn't be too hard to tend to him. Still...she sighed.

But it was Hiruma. And as annoying as he was, she couldn't abandon him, any more than she would have another of the Devil Bats. She met Doburoku's eyes, then Musashi's, and saw the same resolve in their expressions.

She turned to the doctor. "Don't worry sir, we'll take care of it." She held out a hand. "I'm Hiruma-kun's team manager, and Doburoku sensei is our trainer, so if you'll give me the prescriptions for Hiruma-kun, we'll take him home, before the medication wears off."

Doctor Asano smiled. "You're good teammates for him." He handed her the papers. "You can get these filled at the hospital down the street. The late-night pharmacy will be open, and they know about my arrangement with him. Be sure to call me if his condition changes for the worse, or you have any questions."

Mamori nodded, as did Doburoku and Musashi. Then the kicker lifted Hiruma's limp form once more into his arms. Doctor Asano provided a bag, and Mamori and Doburoku quickly gathered up the weapons in the chair to take home. Musashi turned. "About payment..."

Asano shook his head. "Hiruma-kun and I have a system. We'll manage it."

Musashi nodded, then turned and left, Mamori and Doburoku right behind him.

_**Author's Note: **Really sick Hiruma...but of course, even then, he wouldn't make it easy for anyone.  
_


	4. Chapter 4: In the Devil's Den

**Chapter Four: In The Devil's Den **

Getting the prescriptions filled was remarkably easy. Apparently, the people at the late night hospital pharmacy were just as used to Hiruma as Doctor Asano was. Either that, or he'd blackmailed them extremely efficiently. Within an hour, they had the medication and were settled into the back of Doburoku's truck. Mamori blinked at the sleeping figure. "What now?"

Musashi frowned. "We should take him home. But I've never been to his place. I don't know his address."

Mamori turned to Doburoku, but the old trainer just shook his head. She frowned. She had contact information for all the Devil Bats, but...she turned on her phone and scrolled to the information for Hiruma. There was no address listed. She remembered when she'd been getting player information. Hiruma had given her two cell phone numbers and an email. But when she'd asked for his address, he'd shrugged. "Use my damn phone if you need to contact me. If I can't be reached that way, then I fucking can't be reached. Anything you want to give me, give it to me, or leave it in the damn clubhouse. That's one reason we have the thing." Then he'd walked off.

She frowned, then had a thought. "Musashi-kun, can you give me Hiruma-kun's cell phone?"

Musashi passed it over, a slight frown on his face. Doburoku watched as she opened it and began to scroll through it. "What are you thinking?"

Mamori looked up. "There's an entry here, for another Hiruma. I was thinking one of his parents could tell me where he lived." She'd thought of calling before, but she didn't know where the individual listed might be, and she hadn't wanted to disturb them if it wasn't necessary.

Musashi's hand reached out and caught hers before she could even bring the entry up. "No. Don't do that." She stared at him, startled, and he shook his head again. "I don't know anything about his mother. He doesn't talk about her. But I know he doesn't live at home, and he doesn't get along with his father. They hardly ever even see or speak to each other."

Mamori frowned, then closed the phone. "Do we know anyone who might be able to tell us?" She knew there was probably an address listed on the school file, but she wasn't sure she trusted Hiruma to have put down his real home address. Not as generally cagey as he was about his privacy. She knew he didn't live at school, though he was there at all hours, and almost certainly had an illegal grounds key.

Musashi thought for a moment, then his expression cleared. "Kurita might know. I think he used to follow Hiruma home sometimes. He might still know where he lives." A frown crossed the tanned, weather-beaten face. "But if we tell Kurita that Hiruma is ill...the whole team will know within an hour of practice starting."

Mamori smiled. "Leave it to me." she pulled up Kurita's number, his cell phone, and dialed.

There were two rings, and then his bright, cheerful voice came on the other end of the line. "Hai! Mamori-san!"

"Kurita-kun. I had a question for you." She paused, to make sure she had his attention. "Hiruma-kun told me he was going to be gone for few days, to do some scouting and gather information on the other teams. He asked me to bring some paperwork by his home, and some files for him to run analysis with, but he didn't tell me where he lives. Do you know?"

"Hai!" Mamori grabbed a pencil and scribbled down the address he gave her. She didn't immediately recognize it, but it sounded familiar. Anyway, she could look it up if she had to. She thanked the gentle giant, extended her greetings to the rest of the team, particularly Sena, then hung up and took a deep breath. She felt extremely lucky that it had been Kurita she'd needed the information from. He and Taki-kun were the only ones on the team who wouldn't get suspicious about the request.

She held out the address she'd written down. "Do either of you know where this is?" The number indicated it was an apartment in a complex, but she didn't have any clue beyond that.

Musashi looked at it. "Yes. We've done some construction work that way." He glanced at the name of the building. "I know this one."

"All right." Doburoku stuck the keys into the ignition and fired up the truck. "Tell me where we're going."

Including the traffic, the drive took just over half an hour from the hospital. They finally pulled up to a moderately sized building. Mamori looked around. It wasn't quite in the bad neighborhood of Tokyo, but the whole area looked a little run-down, almost worn. Given Hiruma's inclination for the occasional limo, or first class flights, she almost expected more. But then, she knew Hiruma had a distinct preference for privacy, off the football field. This neighborhood was one where his solitude was unlikely to be disturbed, and his appearance and lack of a guardian would go mostly unnoticed.

Musashi considered, then very carefully put a hand in Hiruma's pocket. After a moment, he emerged, holding a set of keys. "Got it." He glanced at them. "Looks like this one. 325, right?"

Mamori looked down at her paper. "Yes."

Musashi stepped out of the car, then picked up the still unconscious quarterback. Doburoku and Mamori gathered up their gear, Hiruma's gear, and the medicines, and the three of them entered the building. Mamori half-expected to be stopped, but they weren't. Within seconds, they were in the elevator, headed for the third floor.

Hiruma's apartment turned out to be at the end of the hall. Mamori glanced at the others, then stuck the key in the lock and turned. It was a little stiff, but it moved. She took a breath, feeling a sudden twisting of nerves in her gut, then walked in.

It was almost pitch dark. She could just make out lights of the city, masked behind heavy curtains. She fumbled, then her fingers found a light switch, and she flicked it on, blinking as the apartment lit up. She moved inside the door, so the other two could get in, then stopped, looking around as her curiosity caught up with her.

She wasn't sure what she'd expected, but it wasn't what she found. She had no doubt the apartment was Hiruma's. There was a large cabinet that could only be to house his guns on one side of the room, a football schedule and plans tacked along a wall, and a small table in front of the couch had a computer and paperwork on it. But besides that...

The apartment was far neater than she would have expected for a single male, living alone. Or for someone who usually came to school with his shirt untucked and without socks half the time. Or someone who usually left the clubhouse a mess. It was also rather spartan. A couch, table and a moderately sized TV with speakers occupied the main room. There was a set of smaller workout equipment in one corner, and of course the cabinet, set in the corner. There was also a small bookcase, crammed with books, though there were magazines stacked under it, with the distinctive 'Amerifuto Monthly' on the cover. Each wall also had a doorway. One led to a small kitchen, which looked just barely used, one to a closed door she figured was a bedroom, and one to a bathroom.

Everything was tidy, organized and neat. She saw a dog-food bowl near the kitchen doorway. The carpet was clean, and the papers on the table were slightly haphazard, but they clearly weren't simply thrown all over the table either. There was a small trash can near the end of the couch, and no take-out cartons, drink bottles, or gum wrappers littered the room. It had an oddly impersonal feel to it, almost like an office space that happened to have had a long-time tenant.

Musashi gave the room a quick look, then made for the closed door. One hand awkwardly twisted the knob, then shoved it open.

The room on the other side was a small bedroom, with a closet, nightstand, and a small bookcase. The bed took up most of the space. Mamori and Doburoku followed the kicker inside, and Mamori pulled the sheets back so Musashi could lower his unconscious burden onto the mattress. The older youth lowered the quarterback onto the surface with surprising gentleness, making sure he didn't get stuck in a cramped position. Then he straightened. "Now what?"

Mamori moved forward and gently removed Hiruma's shoes, then carefully pulled the blanket over his shoulders. Despite the oddness of being in Hiruma's apartment, she had at least done this before, and knew exactly what she could get away with. She'd removed his shoes after the Death March, knowing that everyone's feet were aching like hell, and thrown her jacket over him when she'd found him asleep after the Shinryuuji game. He hadn't commented either time, but she wasn't going to push her luck with trying to remove his jacket, or anything else. It had been one thing when she'd redressed him during the game with the Dinosaurs, and even then they'd both been horribly uneasy. Besides, Hiruma was likely to be uncomfortable, if not outright furious, at the mere fact that they were in his apartment, let alone intent on nursing him. "There. He'll be comfortable now."

"Then we will simply have to wait until he wakes up." Doburoku sighed. "I suggest we wait in the living room. This will be hard enough as it is."

Mamori and Musashi both nodded and followed him out into the main room. Mamori shut the door carefully behind her. Musashi settled back to lean against a wall. Doburoku settled on one end of the couch, and took a long pull out of his bottle. Mamori started toward the other end, then stopped, her eyes drawn toward the table, with it's neat piles of work. She considered a moment, then moved over to examine them.

There were three piles involving football. One had notes on their opponents. One had notes on everyone they'd recruited, plus a few that Hiruma was clearly holding in back-up positions, like Takami. The other held detailed notes on training strategies, developing player strengths and covering for weaknesses. Mamori made a note to copy that pile for them to use while Hiruma was sick. Obviously he'd taken as much care in planning as the others had in choosing the team.

One pile was written in cryptic notes, with names and people she didn't know. She had a feeling it was his blackmail pile. She was tempted to steal it and shred it, or burn it, but she didn't quite dare. For one, she didn't know for certain if that's what it was. For another...even his techniques had their uses, and anyway, she was reluctant to destroy someone's hard work like that, even if she didn't like how he used it. Besides, he'd only re-collect it, and make someone's life hell in the process.

The rest of the piles, to her surprise, were homework files. Current assignments, a few past ones and, of course, notes for the exams, plus, to her surprise, a few assignments that hadn't been handed out yet. In fact, he had all the papers due for the rest of the semester. Each assignment was attached to whatever notes he'd made for it, and stamped with a due date. She stopped to look at one history paper he'd picked up, and her eyebrows rose. Even a cursory glance showed that Hiruma did good work. He'd clearly gone over the material and thought out his answers. Curious, she picked up one of the assignments dated for later, one that the class hadn't received. On that, he hadn't produced a finished product yet. Instead, he'd made notes on the reading, and questions he had. "This is..."

Musashi moved over and glanced at the sheet. "Week after tournament. Of course. How many weeks advance does he have this time?" He flipped through the pages. "All of them?" he shrugged. "Not surprising. Particularly since we'll be overseas for who knows how long. He must have wanted to be prepared. Or he was just catching up on it, since he wasn't allowed to do much with that arm."

Mamori blinked. "This is normal? He does this...frequently?"

Musashi nodded. "Ever since I met him. Ever since he started the football team in junior high, at least. He always gets the work as early as he can, at least a few weeks ahead. Gives him more time to work on it, spread it out. The spring we entered Deimon High, he started meeting teachers during finals week at Maou."

"True. He asked me to help get his assignments in middle school." Doburoku nodded.

"He did?" she felt her brain trying to falter under the shock. "But...why..."

Musashi shrugged. "He's pretty busy. I mean, he's a student, and he manages his information networks, and even I don't know how far those really go. Plus he does all the organization for the team, the supplies, the planning, setting up new plays and training. And he's the captain and quarterback all in one." he flashed her a small smile. "It was good you joined when you did. I was afraid Hiruma was going to run himself into the ground. You took a load off his plate. But this...it helps him keep his grades where he wants them. And it gives him some room to breathe if he winds up in an emergency, or thinks the team needs more time."

Mamori swallowed, completely speechless. She was so used to seeing Hiruma working on his laptop, but she'd never realized that part of that was his homework. She'd never really thought about it. She knew most students assumed he blackmailed the teachers into passing him, and other students into writing his assignments. And yet...she felt she should have known better. He attended all the exams, and she'd seen him write for them. And really, given his own pride in his work, she should have realized how odd it would be, for someone so in control to have left other people to take care of something so vital. She bit her lip, feeling oddly ashamed for not having realized it earlier. For not having thought about it.

She remembered when Taki had joined them. She should have realized then, when he'd assigned them as study guides and impromptu teachers for the young man. If he really thought that blackmailing people for things like that was all right, then he would have simply forced the school to let Taki in, or passed in a written exam and forced them to accept it as Taki's. He hadn't.

She hesitated a moment, then shuffled the papers carefully back into order. She felt suddenly awkward, simply sitting around Hiruma's apartment. But there wasn't a great deal any of them could do. Finally, she resigned herself to taking a seat on the couch. Then she pulled the stack of planning and practice notes to her, and began reading through them and copying them out.

_**Author's Note:** So, what do you think of Hiruma's living space?  
_


	5. Chapter 5: Devil's Pain

**Chapter Five: Devil's Pain **

She'd copied out most of the training strategies, and was going over them with Musashi and Dokuroku when the door to the bedroom slammed open. Hiruma stood propped against the door-frame, a pistol in one hand. "You...fucking idiots. What the hell are you doing?"

Musashi blinked at him. "Mamori thought it would be a good idea to see what your plans were for training. We were going over them to see what we could handle."

"Che." Hiruma fired a round into the carpet. "What the hell...are you doing in my apartment?" His eyes slashed to Mamori. "Damn manager, how did you even...get the address?" The gun rose to point at her.

She met his eyes calmly. After all, he wasn't likely to shoot with one of his computers between them, even on a good day. "I called Kurita-kun, and told him you asked me to bring you some information, before you went scouting the other teams." She picked up her notes, shuffling them into a neat stack. "I warned him that you might be gone for a few days, while you gathered your data."

"Keh. Damn manager." His voice was still rasping on the words, and he was pale, even for Hiruma. "Get out. You too, you morons." He raked Musashi and Doburoku with a glare.

Musashi rose to his feet. "We can't." He met the quarterback's eyes, his gaze calm, although his fists were clenched in preparation for a fight. "The doctor said you needed to be looked after for a few days, until the medication begins to work and clear away the infection. Otherwise, you could make yourself worse, or injure yourself."

Doburoku nodded and held up one of the medical forms the doctor had given them. "The orders are right here."

Hiruma moved into the room. He seemed to stagger a bit, as if he were still dizzy from the drugs the doctor had given him. He snatched the sheet from Doburoku and read over it. "Keh." He dropped the gun onto the table, then withdrew his lighter and set the paper on fire. He turned away.

Some of the smoke must have gotten in his throat, because a second later, he coughed, staggering against the table. Musashi moved forward, but Hiruma shot a glare over his upraised hand. "Back off, you...damned old man."

Mamori felt her teeth gritting in frustration. "Geez, Hiruma-kun. This is exactly why the doctor said you needed to have help for a few days." She set the notes aside, then marched around the table to meet his eyes. She waited until the coughing passed and he could straighten, then met his gaze. "You're ill, Hiruma-kun! Acting all tough isn't going to make this go away, anymore than it stopped your arm from being broken. And you know that! So just obey the doctors orders for once and rest."

A sneer crossed his face. "I don't see any doctors orders to that effect, damn manager."

It was her turn to smirk. "Honestly, Hiruma-kun! That wasn't the only copy." She held up a folded piece of paper. "Musashi-kun and I both have copies of the same order." She flicked it open, just enough so that he'd see the kanji on it, keeping it where she'd have time to try and keep it away if he snatched at it. "There's also a copy in Doburoku sensei's truck." She saw the rising frustration and fury in his eyes, and felt a twinge of concern. The frustration looked genuine, which meant he hadn't expected the tactic. But he was strategist enough that he should have, especially if he'd been working with the same doctor for a while.

Hiruma glared at her a moment, then turned away. "Keh." He reached over, unplugged the laptop with a quick yank, then gathered it up and stalked into his room, slamming the door behind him.

Doburoku let out the breath he'd been holding. "Whew. I thought he was surely going to shoot us."

"No." Musashi shook his head. "He would have, if he thought this was unneeded. But it isn't that he thinks he doesn't need help. He just doesn't want to admit it."

Mamori nodded. The kicker was right. She took a deep breath, and found her gaze straying to the kitchen. "Since he's awake...we should probably get him something hot to eat and drink." Musashi and Doburoku nodded.

The kitchen was decently stocked, better than she would have expected for a residence housing a single teen male. Sena, as far as she knew, couldn't manage anything of a higher quality than ramen, if left on his own. There were several prepackaged noodle cups, ramen and other types, and a few take-out containers. But there were also ingredients for a wide arrangement of dishes, various bottles of juice, and water. There was even a coffee maker and real, ground coffee.

She'd wondered what Hiruma ate, since, as far as she knew, he rarely bought school lunches. And he didn't seem to eat much any other time either. He ate some when he took the team out for barbeque or something, but always in moderation. The only time she'd ever seen him really eat what she considered a full meal had been on the Death March, when he'd been replacing the calories he burned running. But it was obvious from the state of his kitchen that he knew how to make his own food. If the stocks were anything to go by, he even ate reasonably balanced meals. Not only that, but a glance on the side of the fridge revealed a shopping list, with various items ticked off, or numbered, as if he were keeping some form of inventory.

It was a matter of a few minutes to start a round of miso soup cooking, and some rice. She prepped enough for the four of them. Hiruma didn't have many dishes, but he had enough for everyone to have a bowl and plate. She made a note of what she'd used, including seasonings, and tacked it up beside his. A quick search revealed he had no actual trays, but he did have a baking pan, for some reason. She set his bowl and plate on that, then added a bottle of water to help him stay hydrated. She brought Musashi and Doburoku their dinners, then took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and went to Hiruma's door. "Hiruma-kun?"

There wasn't any answer. She shifted the makeshift tray in her hands and knocked awkwardly. She waited a few seconds, then twisted the knob and pushed the door open with her foot.

Hiruma was sitting on the bed. He'd changed out of the clothing they'd brought him home in, into a white t-shirt, and a loose pair of sweatpants. He was settled with his legs outstretched, typing on his computer, which was plugged into the nearest socket. He was also chewing a piece of gum from somewhere. He didn't look up from typing as she entered, but after a moment, he spoke. "What the hell do you want, damn manager?"

She fought the urge to yell at him. He was obviously trying to provoke her. "I made some soup and rice for you. You should eat it if you can, to keep up your strength. And I brought you some water. You need to make sure to drink plenty of liquids, so you don't dehydrate from the fever."

"Keh." A scowl twisted his mouth. "I'm not the damn shorty. I don't need you telling me how to handle myself when I'm sick." His eyes rose, lingering on the tray. "I don't need a fucking nursemaid either."

Mamori sighed. "Honestly, Hiruma-kun. I just thought I'd make dinner, since everyone was cold and tired. I made enough for four, and this is just your share. So stop fussing already." She moved forward, nudged a few things aside on the nightstand, and set the tray on it. "You need to eat it before it gets cold." She put a hand on her hip.

Hiruma glanced at it again. "Whatever you used, you're replacing, damn manager."

She sighed again. "I know that, Hiruma-kun." She bit her lip. After so many years of watching Sena, she had the urge to sit on the bed, drop the tray in his lap, and either feed it to him, or watch while he ate. But even Sena had grown past that, and Hiruma certainly was nothing like the shy child she'd guided through school. Trying to feed him, or watch him eat, would only result in a fight. At best, he'd refuse on principle. At worst, he might actually throw the food at her.

She debated a moment, then turned toward the door. "I'm going to check on Musashi-kun and Doburoku-sensei, and get some dinner." She paused, her fingers on the door handle. "I'll come back with your medicine in a little while. Some of it needs to be taken with food, and the doctor said you needed to start taking it as soon as possible, so please try to eat something." She left the room before he made any response and shut the door behind her, to give him some privacy.

Dinner in the main area was a quiet affair. It felt awkward, eating in someone else's living room, particularly when the master of the apartment wasn't even in the same room. All of them were silent, brooding over the difficulty of the task before them.

Mamori ate her portion of miso and rice, then gathered together the dishes to wash. Cleaning up only took a few minutes, and it wasn't that hard. She finished up, then grabbed Hiruma's medicine off the counter and headed back toward his room, trying to think of a way to get him to take what he needed to, without too much fuss. Her fingers had just touched the knob, when a sound from Hiruma's room made her stiffen.

Muffled choking sounds were coming from behind the door. Mamori felt her eyes widen. "Musashi-kun..." The kicker was up in a flash, behind her even as she threw open then door.

Hiruma was doubled up on the bed, computer on it's side beside him, coughing. His face was turning red, jaw clenched, his body spasming under the force of the contractions. He didn't seem to be getting any air. He wasn't even covering his mouth. One hand clenched over his rib-cage and gut, the other was fisted in the sheets as he fought to get his body under control.

"Hiruma!" Musashi was at his friend's side in an instant, hands on his shoulders. It was a mark of how terrible the fit was that Hiruma didn't even fight it, despite his general dislike of being touched. The kicker glanced around, then grabbed the half-full water bottle off the nightstand and held it to the other teen's mouth.

Hiruma managed a small swallow, then choked it right back up. But the interval was enough for him to gasp in a tiny breath of air, then another, between the violent hacking.

Mamori glanced down at the medications she held. One was an inhaler, for emergency use. She tore open the packaging, shook the bottle as the directions indicated, then stepped forward. "Hiruma-kun."

Green eyes came to her. If it had been anyone else, she might have held the inhaler to his mouth for him. But it was Hiruma, and she knew he wouldn't accept it, so she simply handed it to him. He shuddered under another attack, but got his hand off the sheets and wrapped trembling fingers around the instrument. He turned his face away from both of them, but Mamori saw his hand rise, and heard a slight hiss. His shoulders expanded on an inhalation, then another. Another round of coughing hit, but it wasn't as severe, and she could hear him breathing again, though the sound was rough and ragged.

Musashi and Mamori watched as the quarterback slowly got himself under control. Mamori saw movement in the doorway, and saw Doburoku standing there, but the old trainer made no move to come any closer. Finally, when it seemed the coughing had mostly stopped, Mamori spoke. "Hiruma-kun?"

For a minute he didn't respond, then a harsh, ragged whisper broke the silence. "Let...go...of me...old man."

Musashi released his friend at once, rising from where he'd been sitting next to him. He surveyed Hiruma's still trembling frame for a moment, then held out the water bottle. "Drink. You need to soothe your throat after that. And take your medicine."

Hiruma didn't say anything, and his face remained averted. Mamori frowned. Then her eyes went to his hand, still wrapped around his gut, and she understood.

Hiruma was in pain. When she considered how hard he'd been coughing, he probably had sore or wrenched muscles in most of his back and abdomen. He didn't want them to see the expression of strain and pain on his face. Just like the game against Hakushuu, when he'd had Doburoku cover his face with a towel.

She considered a moment, then took the water bottle from Musashi and leaned forward to carefully set it just in front of his arm. A glance at the tray she'd left revealed that he actually had eaten a fair amount of rice and soup. She cracked open the rest of his medicine, antibiotics and something to reduce coughing, as well as something to help ward off further viruses and infections. She checked the dosage instructions, then poured out the first dose, capped the bottles, and set the pills next to the water bottle. "Here. This should help, Hiruma-kun."

He didn't respond, didn't turn to face her, but after a moment he shifted silently and wrapped his hand around the water bottle. Then he picked up the pills, slipped them into his mouth, and swallowed. He took a few more sips of water, then spoke, his voice rasping over the words as if he'd swallowed glass. "Happy...damn manager?"

She felt a lump in her throat, but knew he didn't need or want her going all teary-eyed over him. "It's a good start." She glanced at the tray again. "I'm glad to see you've eaten some too. That will help."

Doburoku stepped forward then, moving slowly to the bed, and casually reaching out to prop the computer in an upright position. "I wonder...what would you have done, Hiruma, if these two hadn't been here to help you?"

Hiruma's shoulders tensed. Mamori and Musashi both winced. It didn't matter that they were both thinking the same thing, the bluntness of the approach still seemed harsh. Even if it was about the only tactic that could be used on him.

Hiruma didn't say anything in response to the words. Doburoku kept moving, until he was in a position where he could see Hiruma's face. "You understand, don't you? You will need help, until you have begun to heal. It is not a sign of weakness, merely a fact of life." His finger tapped his sake bottle. "It will take time, until the medicine can undo the damage your illness has caused. In that time, your condition may very well worsen."

"I know that...damned drunk." Hiruma's voice was still ragged, but under the harsh pain of his shredded throat, there was something else, anger and a kind of shame or fear that Mamori recognized from helping him with his broken arm. "The odds are almost a hundred percent."

"Then you understand why you need a team to help you through it." Doburoku's gaze was fixed on the quarterback's face.

Hiruma's shoulders tensed, and the hand Mamori could see clenched into a fist. "Keh."

She sighed. She knew that sound. He knew they were right, but he wanted to fight it, to fight them. The only reason he wasn't putting up more of a struggle was because he was still in too much pain from the coughing to do so. "Honestly, Hiruma-kun, it isn't that bad."

"Shut up...damn manager." Hiruma's voice still had that edge of hard anger. "You don't know what you're talking about."

Mamori huffed in exasperation. "Honestly! It's not as if you've never been hurt before. You didn't have nearly this much trouble when we helped you with your broken arm last month. Why are you being so stubborn now?"

"Damn...manager." Hiruma's shoulders shook, and a rough anger-tinged echo of his manic laughter emerged. "Being sick and being injured aren't the same thing."

Mamori frowned. "What do you mean?"

Hiruma's voice was much quieter when he spoke again. "I can't fucking control it."

Mamori blinked. "Eh?" She didn't understand what he was trying to say, but she felt a chill sweep over her anyway.

Musashi spoke, his own voice thoughtful. "The last time you were sick enough to notice, you took three days out of school, and locked the apartment door so Kurita couldn't see you." he stepped forward and put a hand on Hiruma's shoulder, and the quarterback finally looked up at him. Mamori winced, seeing the faint sheen of sweat, and the flush of fever in the pale cheeks. Musashi studied him a moment, then spoke again, his voice as quiet as Hiruma's had been a moment ago. "You can't control what the fever is going to do to you. What it is doing to you. You can't control the coughing well, or how badly it hurts you to breathe."

Hiruma looked away, his jaw tensing. "Damn old man."

Doburoku was studying the lean form, his eyes considering. "Hiruma." He waited until the quarterback turned dark green eyes to him. "You don't sleep well, unless you're completely exhausted." It wasn't a question.

Hiruma's hand clenched again, and he looked away. Mamori frowned, trying to understand the implications of the words. _Hiruma-kun...he couldn't mean...Hiruma-kun has trouble sleeping?_ But then...she'd never seen him sleep, really sleep, unless he was exhausted, right after a game or a difficult task. He was frequently up late, later than she was, and he almost always arrived at school before she did. And she knew, on the rare occasions that sleep did overwhelm him...he tended to vanish into a corner. During the Death March, he'd always slept on the other side of the truck, except when rain had forced him to share with the others. When they traveled, he always took a room for himself, alone.

Mamori swallowed. She'd always thought Hiruma was being aloof, from pride, or to maintain his reputation. But though she knew he didn't like to reveal when he was hurt or vulnerable, she hadn't thought to connect it with his desire for privacy, save as another indicator of how proud and stubborn he was was. "Hiruma-kun..."

He glanced at her, then away. "Don't get the wrong idea...damn manager." A brief fit of coughing interrupted him. Mamori saw his hand clench over his chest. Then it passed and he spoke to her again, as if nothing had happened. "My mind's just too damn active. I've been a fucking insomniac since I was old enough to go to school. I just...hate being...fucking disturbed. Or inactive." He coughed again, and Mamori saw the pain and frustration in the lines of his jaw and the set of his shoulders. "This damn fever..." He broke off the words abruptly.

Musashi frowned thoughtfully. "Fever can make the mind wander."

Hiruma made a soft noise of annoyance, grimacing as if even that small noise made his throat hurt. "I can't freakin concentrate."

It sounded like he was telling the truth, but there was an edge of tension to his voice that Mamori recognized from the time he'd given her the emergency game plan for the Hakushuu game. He wasn't telling the whole truth. There was something he was hiding. She studied his face. He was flushed, sweating slightly, but the set of his jaw and the shuttered look in the green eyes suggested that it was better not to push it. He'd only get upset, and they didn't need to agitate him further.

She sighed, adopting an attitude of exasperation. "You don't need to concentrate, Hiruma-kun. You need to rest." She glanced at the tray. "And you need to eat and get plenty of nutrients, not to mention plenty of liquids, since the fever will probably dehydrate you."

Musashi looked a little surprised, but Hiruma's shoulders relaxed. "Che. Back off...damn manager. I'm not the damn shorty." His tone was annoyed, but the angry tension had left his eyes, and she saw the fist entangled in the sheets relax.

Musashi must have noticed too. He leaned back against the wall, comprehension in his eyes. "She's right, Hiruma. And you know it. Do what she tells you, for once."

A sneer curled Hiruma's lip, but Mamori saw the tiredness entering his eyes as the side effects of the medicine took hold, combined with his already exhausted state. She'd seen that look before too, at the end of the Death March, right before he'd gone to his room and passed out. "Shut up."

She sighed again, adopting a tone of annoyance. "Well, if you aren't going to eat more, then I'm taking the dishes. You should just rest, Hiruma-kun. And make sure you drink plenty of water." She reached over and picked up the tray.

"Che. Just get out, all of you." Hiruma sneered again, then grabbed his computer and set it back on his lap, frowning at the screen, shutting them out to all intents and purposes.

Mamori sighed again, exasperation still in her tone. "You're so rude, Hiruma-kun." She glared at him a moment, then turned and left his room. Doburoku followed her.

Musashi was last. He hesitated, and Hiruma glanced up. "Shut the damn door, old man." Then he went back to typing. Musashi frowned, but Mamori caught his eye and gave a quick shake of her head. Musashi studied her a moment, then gave the slender figure on the bed a last look and pulled the door shut.

A scowl creased Doburoku's face as he followed her into the kitchen. "Is it really safe to leave Hiruma alone?"

Mamori considered. "It should be. Hiruma-kun took all his medications. I'll check on him in a little while." Doburoku nodded and rejoined Musashi in the living room.

Mamori washed up the dishes, then made a quick note of the things she needed to purchase to restock Hiruma's supplies, as well as things she'd thought of for meals and to help him recuperate better. Then she returned to the living room, and the three of them finished reviewing the notes they were going over, discussing Hiruma's training strategies, and what alterations they'd need to make, to account for the absence of the quarterback. When they finished, Mamori gathered up the notes she'd made and stowed them in her bag, then went to the bedroom door and opened it a crack.

Hiruma was leaning against the headboard, his eyes closed and his head tilted slightly to one side. His breathing was shallow, but even, and his hands had fallen to his sides. He didn't stir when she stepped softly into the room, not even when her shadow fell across his face.

"He's asleep." Musashi spoke softly behind her. He was standing, watching Hiruma's slow breathing.

"Yes." Mamori reached out, moved the computer gently to the side, out of the way so he wouldn't knock into it or step on it, or the cord, if he woke and got up. Then she pulled the blanket up from around his waist, up to his shoulders, gently tucking it over him. It was a note of how tired was, that he didn't wake when she did so. Mamori considered a moment, then very gently brushed her hand across his forehead, pushing back the damp hair. She could feel the heat of his fever still, but his breathing sounded slightly less labored.

"Here." Musashi had left the room, but now he returned, holding a couch cushion. "He'll be irritable if he wakes with a crick in his neck. And if he starts yelling or cursing, he'll probably start coughing."

"That's true." Mamori studied Hiruma a moment, then very, very carefully edged the pillow under his shoulder and neck, supporting his head a little better. "That should help." She was a little surprised she hadn't woken him, but then...he was tired and sick. She supposed anything was possible. "We should just let him rest now."

The two of them exited as quietly as they'd entered. Mamori took the door and closed it, the way she'd done when she and Sena were children, and she'd had to nurse him through an illness.

Doburoku was sitting on the couch. He looked up as the door shut. "He's asleep?"

Mamori nodded. "Hiruma-kun will probably sleep for the rest of the night, and we should let him sleep as late as he can tomorrow."

Musashi made a soft noise. "Hiruma always wakes early. I bet we'll hear from him before 8am."

"Even so, Mamori-chan is correct. He should sleep as much as possible." Doburoku sighed. "Musashi...you should go home and check on your father. Mamori-chan...return home and rest. You'll have to oversee at least part of practice tomorrow, and you'll probably want to help Hiruma as well, am I correct?"

Mamori nodded. "I thought I'd stay here tonight, and..."

"No." Musashi shook his head. "You have parents who'd question what you were doing."

Doburoku nodded. "Besides, even though your intentions are innocent, and even if we don't intend to let anyone find out...if something happens, people will suspect you and Hiruma."

"Suspect..." Mamori flushed scarlet. "I'm just his manager, honestly!"

"We know. But you do have a close working relationship, and a lot of people think it's more than that. If you stay over...you and Hiruma don't need to risk that kind of rumor going around." Musashi shook his head. "What if Sena or Monta spoke to your family and discovered something? Or Suzuna?"

Mamori nodded, her cheeks still burning. "But...Hiruma-kun..."

Doburoku shook his head. "I'll stay here and tend to him for tonight. You and Musashi can come over in the morning and work out a schedule for watching over him."

Mamori nodded. "His medications are on his bedside table, if he wakes. He shouldn't need any but the inhaler before dawn, but the instructions are on the bottles. Please make sure he gets them if he needs them. And if he wakes before we arrive, don't forget to give him his antibiotics, with plenty of water, and some rice at least."

Doburoku nodded. "I will." He glanced at the bedroom door.

"Don't forget to listen for any coughing. Make sure he's breathing properly. And watch his fever, make sure it doesn't go too high."

"I will." Doburoku smiled grimly. "I've tended injuries and illnesses before. I'll take good care of Hiruma."

Mamori nodded. She was reluctant to leave the sick quarterback, but Doburoku and Musashi were right about the potential for rumors, and her parents. And Musashi was right. Suzuna-chan especially, might take it into her head to investigate. And if she found out what was going on, she wasn't sure the younger girl could keep it a secret.

Musashi saw her expression. "Don't worry. He'll be fine for the night. Doburoku sensei will take good care of him." He shrugged into his jacket. "I'll take you home. It's not completely safe around this neighborhood."

"Musashi." Doburoku tossed the kicker a set of keys. "I won't need the truck till morning, you might as well take it. It's safer and warmer."

Musashi nodded. "Come on." Mamori took one last look at the closed bedroom door, then followed the kicker out into the night.

**_Author's Note:_**_So...Hiruma is seriously ill. Who here thinks he's going to be a good or easy patient? _


	6. Chapter 6: What No One Knows

**Chapter ****Six: ****What ****No ****One ****Knows**

Mamori woke early the next morning. She fixed herself a quick breakfast, reviewing the day's schedule as she did so. There was morning practice for the players, then they disbursed to take care of individual schooling concerns, jobs, etc. Then afternoon practice. After that she had the evening free, to do homework and such.

She glanced at the clock. She was normally an early riser, but this was earlier than usual. There were still about two hours to go before morning practice. She frowned, then went back to her room and pulled up bus routes and train routes, trying to calculate how long it would take her to get to Hiruma's and back. She sighed with frustration. She'd almost be better off walking, but either way, she wasn't sure she could manage to make it all the way to his apartment and back before she had to be at school for practice. And she knew better than to assume no one would notice. If it was just her being absent or late, or just Hiruma, there would be no comment. But with both of them, the rumors would fly. Suzuna, at least, would be announcing theories every five minutes.

She glanced at her phone. She knew Musashi rose early, legacy of being both a football player and a construction worker, but she wasn't sure exactly how early. She also knew he sometimes visited his father in the hospital before school, if he hadn't had a chance to visit the night before, and they'd been occupied with Hiruma until long after normal visiting hours. She thought about calling Doburoku, but she didn't want to risk waking the quarterback, if he was still asleep.

"Mamori? You're up early." Her mother was standing in the doorway. "Did you get enough sleep? You came home late last night."

Mamori seized the opening. "Yes mother, I slept well." She took a deep breath. "About last night...one of the players needs help with his schoolwork. Especially since we have that World Cup coming up, and it's going to interrupt our studies. So, actually, would it be all right if I came home late the next few days? Until we're sure that everything is taken care of, and there won't be any problems?"

She felt nervous, hedging the truth like that. Hiruma clearly didn't need help with schoolwork. Although, if he wasn't going to be in class to take notes, she could take them for him, or collect them from his teachers. So it wasn't precisely a lie. She made a note to add that to her schedule. At least she knew, from the piles of homework she'd seen, which classes he was in.

Her mother considered. "Well, all right. I suppose if you can go to America with those boys, you'll manage a few late-night homework sessions responsibly. But not too late, and remember to take care of your own work as well."

"I will." She glanced at the clock. Practice was still an hour and a half away. She was wondering what to do with her spare time when the phone rang. She glanced at the number, then opened it. "Musashi-kun?"

"Hiruma's awake. Doburoku called me." The kicker's voice was rougher than normal, as if he hadn't gotten enough sleep, or had only just been awakened. "I'm going over there. No one will notice if I miss this morning, and Doburoku never shows for early practice anyway, so please take over for us."

"Of course. Do I need to come by?"

"Not right now." Musashi's voice was clearing. Mamori wondered if he'd managed to get his hands on some of the coffee he favored. Black and hot and strong; he and Hiruma both liked it that way. Just the smell of it was enough to wake her up sometimes. "I'll watch Hiruma today. If you'll come by this evening, that will be fine. Doburoku will join you for afternoon practice."

Mamori nodded. It made sense. "All right. You know the schedule for his medications and everything, right?"

"Yes." There was a pause, as both of them tried to think of anything else that needed to be said, then there was a click, and the line went dead.

She spent the rest of her spare time writing up her day's schedule, including times to pick up Hiruma's class notes, and go grocery shopping, then re-checked her bag and started for school.

Kurita and Komosubi were already on the field when she arrived. She smiled. She knew Kurita was excited by the possibility of a World Cup, and Komosubi was as eager as his senpai. Judging by the marks in the turf, and the sweat on their practice uniforms, they'd probably been practicing since 2 or 3am. Her thoughts were interrupted when Kurita spotted her and waved. "Mamori-san!"

She stopped and waved back. "Good morning, Kurita-kun, Komosubi-kun!" Her gaze drifted over the tracks in the snow. "It looks like you're working hard."

Kurita smiled. "Yes. We've been practicing for hours!" Komosubi gave an affirmative grunt and puffed out his chest, determination on his features. Kurita smiled at his disciple, then turned back, his smile faltering a little. "Did you get those papers to Hiruma?"

Mamori nodded. "I did. Thank you very much for your help."

Kurita fidgeted. "He wasn't angry, was he, that I gave you his address?" He fussed some more. "Hiruma is...he's a very private individual. He doesn't like it when I talk about things like that too much."

Mamori stifled an urge to wince, remembering how Hiruma had yelled at them. But then, he'd been more irritated with their presence than anything. "It's fine. He was a little irritated, but I don't think he's angry with you." She looked up to see several forms in athletic gear and football uniforms headed toward them. She also saw Suzuna, waiting for her. "I'd better go put my books away, and we'll start regular team practice, okay?"

"Yes!" Kurita grinned at her, relaxed again. "I'll go get the equipment for everyone!" With that, he and Komosubi started for the clubhouse storage area, practically radiating enthusiasm. Mamori smiled wider, then turned to take her books to her locker.

She'd gotten halfway there when Suzuna skated up beside her. "Morning, Mamori-chan!"

"Morning Suzuna-chan!" The younger cheerleader was clearly in good spirits, and it made Mamori feel somewhat more cheerful as well, though she hadn't missed the calculating, somewhat mischievous look in the other girl's eye.

Suzuna skated beside her for a few moments, then slid ahead of her, turning so they were face to face. "I heard you talking to Kurita-kun." There was a barely concealed smirk on her face. "Were you really at You-nii's house last night?"

Mamori sighed. Suzuna had been trying to play matchmaker between Hiruma and her for quite some time. "I went to drop off some paperwork Hiruma asked me for. That's all."

"Really?" Suzuna's smirk widened. "You stayed late after practice to talk to You-nii, and you never came to join us for dinner." She giggled.

Mamori sighed. "Honestly, Suzuna-chan. I'm the team's _manager_. Hiruma asked me to stay late to go over some of the player statistics. I left some of the information he needed at my house, so he made me go get it for him." She sighed again. "You can ask Musashi-kun when you see him. He was kind enough to offer to drive me over and back, so I wouldn't have to walk by myself. We borrowed Doburoku sensei's truck too."

"Well, if you say so. Although...I wonder why You-nii didn't just come to your house, or get them this morning."

Mamori grimaced. "I told Hiruma to never set foot in my house. If my mother ever met him..." She saw Suzuna's understanding. Though really, if she were honest with herself, her mother had seen most of the Deimon games. She was probably well aware what kind of person Hiruma was. She forced her mind back to the main discussion. "He said he was going to be away for a while, doing some information gathering, and he didn't want to wait."

Suzuna sighed. "That does sound a lot like You-nii. Ah well." She spun back around on her skates. "I'd better go get dressed for practice. See you there." She flashed Mamori a quick grin and a wave then took off down the sidewalk to the clubhouse.

Mamori took a deep breath, then exhaled. She was suddenly glad she'd gotten Musashi and Doburoku's help. The old trainer had been right about the rumors, and she didn't want to think about Hiruma's response, if Suzuna started telling everyone they were a couple. She shoved the thoughts away and picked up her pace. She did have a practice to run, after all.

Morning practice went well. After so many months, all of the players were disciplined, and enthusiastic. Mamori made quick a quick reference to Hiruma's practice notes, meticulously labeled by date, then directed the players to their assigned tasks. Riku, Sena and Shin were running against each other in various competitive and obstacle style exercises. The linebackers were working against each other, using hand-held targets to slam into each other and look for holds and weaknesses in stance or position.

The quarterbacks and receivers were teamed up to practice passing and catching. Kid had fully recovered use of his arm, and he and Takami were comparing notes, working on fine-tuning their abilities. She'd told them of Hiruma's plans, to cross different techniques, as well as players, and left them to sort it out. Both of them had their own unique styles that they'd developed and perfected. They understood the adaptations and mechanics far better than anyone else, and were smart enough to see the benefit in working together to improve and add to their arsenals.

For her part, Mamori simply gave out assignments, stood by with water and towels, and summoned the players in for the end of practice. She'd been afraid that there would be trouble without Hiruma, but even the 'Huh Brothers' and Taki were giving it a good effort. At the end of practice, she gave them all snacks and warm towels, and reminded them of the afternoon practice time, then sent them on their ways.

She spent the school day taking careful notes in her own classes, and using the breaks to collect notes for Hiruma, in the classes they didn't share. Several of his teachers were surprised that she was picking up notes for the quarterback, but she'd had plenty of time to prepare her story. She simply told them that Hiruma was preparing for an International Championship. As his manager, it was her responsibility to see that all players maintained their academic standing. The story earned her several appraising looks, and looks of commiseration, for keeping track of the headstrong captain. It also got her notes, though, so she didn't mind.

Afternoon practice started half an hour after school let out. It was far too soon for the players from other teams to arrive, but it did let the Devil Bats get in their regular practice, free from distractions.

Doburoku arrived while she was directing the team members through warm-ups. He watched as they finished stretching and went to running laps, then uncorked his sake jug. "How are they doing?"

Mamori consulted her notes. "They're a little slower without Hiruma-kun here to push them, but morning practice was still satisfactory." She handed the old trainer the notes she'd made.

"Hmmm." Doburoku leafed through the papers, then set the clipboard to one side with a snap. "All right. I'll handle them for the afternoon. You direct the additional players to me as as they arrive."

Mamori nodded. She wanted to ask how Hiruma was, but she'd spotted Suzuna lurking and listening nearby. Besides, the players were finishing their laps, and drifting over to get their work-out assignments.

Suzuna waited until the others were dispersing about the field to work, then rolled over. "I don't see You-nii."

Mamori sighed. She should have known Suzuna was too curious to let it go. "I told you, he's out getting information on the competition."

Suzuna stretched, her big eyes thoughtful. "But I thought You-nii brought you the data last week. He was yelling at you the other day about it. And Musashi isn't here either."

Mamori forced a shrug. "Musashi-kun probably has to work again. He took a lot of time off for the Christmas Bowl, and you know how he feels about helping out." Of course, she knew Musashi was only working limited hours, and that his father and co-workers had all encouraged him to train hard for the Youth World Championship. She just didn't see any reason to tell Suzuna that.

"I guess." Suzuna shrugged again. "It's still weird about You-nii."

Mamori sighed. "He told me he only had solid data on the American team. After that business in the Cream Puff Cup, he wants better statistics on the other teams as well." She knew Suzuna would remember that particular incident, especially when Sena had been knocked out by an attack none of them saw coming. He'd sustained a moderate concussion that day, and required a few days of rest.

"Oh. That makes sense. And it does sound a bit like You-nii, I guess." Suzuna's pensive expression cleared. Then she scowled. "I'd better go rein in my idiot brother again." She kicked her skates into gear, zooming toward the icy field and the spinning figure in red and white standing in the middle. Mamori smiled and went back to her note-taking.

Shin from Ojou was the first to arrive. He honestly looked like he'd run all the way there. But then, that was normal for him. She ran him through a basic evaluation, then sent him off to join Sena. The running-backs were being paired with the linebackers, to practice breaking through blocks. The next half-hour saw them joined by Gaou, Akaba, Kakei, Mizuki, and Yamoto. It was an intimidating line-up, and a surprisingly versatile one, and even Shin looked to find it challenging.

The rest of the Ojou White Knights and the Seibu Gunmen arrived at about the same time, fifteen minutes behind Shin. Mamori directed them to their exercises, and to see Doburoku for details. The old Deimon trainer and the Ojou coach were soon shoulder to shoulder, discussing training strategies and calling out orders. With the two of them taking over the practices, she was free to sit back and make observations.

Practice seemed to be going well. Everyone was working hard under the coaches watchful eyes. And if the presence of their coach didn't spur them, they were all feeling fairly competitive toward each other to begin with. It was amazing, how they managed to mesh so smoothly, despite the constant competition to see who was better.

They were halfway through practice when Mamori's concentration was broken by someone clearing his throat, right beside her. She looked up to find the Seibu quarterback standing next to her. "Did you need something, Kid-san?"

He gave her a slow, lazy smile, and a tip of his hat. "Just Kid." he glanced at the field. "I'm surprised not to see Hiruma Yoichi here. He didn't strike me as the type to miss practice."

Mamori nodded. "Hiruma-kun left on a short trip to do some scouting on the other teams. He said he'd return soon, but that he only has information on the American team, and he wanted better statistics on the other competitors."

Kid grinned and tipped his hat thoughtfully. "Scouting other teams, huh? That seems like a wise thing to do." Then he turned, and gave her a serious, knowing look. "I thought it might have something to do with the way he was coughing, last practice."

Mamori swallowed, and just managed to keep the surprise from her face. It was all she could do to avoid making a face. She'd forgotten that Kid was one of the few people who could read Hiruma accurately. That was why Hiruma said he was the best quarterback in Japan. His strategy, flexibility and insight were a match for Hiruma's own.

Kid was still politely waiting for a response. She pretended to adjust her notebook. "Hiruma-kun does have a bit of a cold, but I talked to him. He's taking medication and he's doing much better. He's perfectly fine. But thank you for inquiring, Kid-san."

The Seibu quarterback continued to watch her for a moment, and she had the feeling he didn't quite believe her. Then he shrugged. "If you speak to Hiruma, tell him I'm looking forward to our next practice together." Then he sidled back onto the field.

The rest of practice went smoothly enough. Unsui showed up for the last part of it, Ikkyu in tow. Of course, they were expected to be late, given how far they had to travel to get there at all. Unsui commented on Hiruma's absence, but didn't ask. After all, Agon wasn't there either, for all that he'd agreed to be part of the team.

Partway through, Doburoku changed the drills. He paired the quarterbacks with the receivers and running-backs, getting them used to different styles of hand-offs and catches. After half an hour of that, he and the Ojou coach began running them through mock plays, testing and adapting various trick plays and strategies.

Shin and Testuma were both too straightforward for trick plays. They were, however, excellent for breaking through, or acting as a foil for someone more used to running a trick play. Akaba and Riku, on the other hand, were excellent at adapting to trick moves, almost as good as Sena. Yamoto fell somewhere between the two groups. He was, however, a powerful runner and a fast learner, and quite willing to trade his own pointers on running style for tips on what the others knew. He was particularly interested in Shin's Spear Tackle, and Sena's groundbreaking 360 Devilbat Ghost.

On the defensive side, Mizuki and Gaou were having the most fun stopping the runs, engaged in a slightly homicidal contest to see whether brute strength or flexibility was more effective. Akaba was actually switching back and forth between the two groups, as was Shin. Kakei was focused as always. The Huh Brothers, Komusubi and Kurita took up the challenge with a cheerful intensity that, in any other setting, might have appeared insane.

Mamori busied herself with taking dutiful notes for Hiruma and the coaches. She was pleased at how well practice was going, but still...nine months had given her an impressive awareness of field dynamics, and something felt...off. There was no gunfire. No laughing, manic, hyperactive blond shouting orders. No wild-haired quarterback stalking among the players, shouting orders, making changes, swapping strategies. That edge of focus, that feel of everything pulling just a little tighter together, wasn't quite there.

It was odd. Even from inside an oxygen tank, Hiruma was capable of bringing things together. He made the Devil Bats a unified whole. The way he ran the practices, the players were bound together by the challenge of pleasing an impossible master. Doburoku and the Ojou coach were both excellent trainers, but the whole thing just lacked that extra spark, that extra zing of energy that seemed to radiate from the Deimon quarterback. Mamori frowned. She knew that Hiruma's absence from the field was always slightly unsettling, but it had never before occurred to her how much _presence_ he brought to the field, simply by being there. Or how much focus his regard brought to his team, or anyone else.

"Huh. Bunch of half-assed monkeys." Mamori jumped as a startlingly familiar voice sounded from beside her. She looked up.

Habashira Rui, former captain of the Chameleons, stood beside her, his trench-coat pulled tightly about him and his hands stuffed in his pockets, a scowl of discontent on his face.

"Habashira-san." She didn't ask what he was doing there. He'd come to every game they had, and several practices, ever since the Posideons had beaten his team in the Tokyo Tournament. She knew there was something going on between Rui and Hiruma, given the odd glances she'd seen them exchange, after every game. Every time, Hiruma would look into the stands, where Rui sat, and a long stare would pass between them before Rui nodded and slouched away. She also remembered that after Hiruma collapsed at the Dinosaurs game, the Chameleons had provided a traffic escort to take him to the hospital as quickly as possible. She'd never gotten a chance to thank him, given that Rui and his gang had disappeared almost as soon as Kurita had carried Hiruma through the doors.

She waited, and after a long moment, Rui spoke again. "Where's Hiruma? I was going to congratulate the bastard on winning the Christmas Bowl, and tell him to kick everyone's ass at that World Cup." A small, slightly crazy grin twisted his features. "Don't tell me the damn punk is slacking off now." He cracked his knuckles warningly.

She shook her head. "Hiruma is just researching the other teams."

"Research, huh?" Another odd expression drifted over Rui's face. "What the hell does he need that for? You just meet your enemies, crush them or they crush you." He watched the field for another moment, then turned to stare at her, eyes flat and hard. "You tell that bastard that if he screws up and doesn't beat the rest of the world, I'm gonna kick his fucking ass. Got that?" He pointed a finger at her, emphasizing the warning. "He's carrying the honor of the entire damn nation this time, including **us**..." The thumb jerked back to point at himself. "So he'd better not screw up."

Mamori nodded. "I'll pass along your message."

Rui stared at her a moment longer, then nodded and turned away. He moved toward the steps, then stopped. "Tell the bastard I said congrats, and thanks." His rough voice was quiet.

"I will." She watched him walk away, wondering what the thanks was for. Then she shrugged and returned her attention to the field. Practice was almost over. She had some more notes to jot down, before she went to get water and warm towels for the players. She was freezing on the bench. She knew the players were warming, running around as they were, and in padded uniforms. She also knew they'd all feel the cold once they stopped and went through their cool down. The sweating they'd done during practice would make those uniforms like icicles. She wrote down a few last minute notations and went to start warming up towels and snacks for the boys.

The next half hour was spent in domestic duties, warming up towels, setting out water and food for the players. After that, she found herself shuffled into a corner while the young men of half a dozen football teams came and went. Because of their proximity to the practice field, not to mention the large facilities, they'd agreed to let the other players use the Deimon clubhouse to change after practice. She didn't object to the courtesy but, even with the expansions Hiruma had acquired after the Christmas Bowl, it was a little crowded.

Mamori sighed, made sure the players were provided for, then went to find Doburoku and the other coaches. She wanted to go check on Hiruma, but first she had to present her notes on practice, then remind the players of the next practice day and what they needed to work on. She took a small detour to pick up a cream puff, then spotted Doburoku in the strategy area and made her way over.

Reporting to the coaches took just over half an hour. Doburoku was familiar with her style of analysis and note-taking, but she and the Ojou coach were still learning about each other. By the time she finished, the players were almost all ready to go. The coaches collected their players to get them on the buses, and the Deimon players began drifting out the door, headed for home. She caught their attention long enough to make a general announcement about practice, then caught Unsui and Ikkyu to give them practice information for Agon, should he decide to show. She'd just returned to the clubhouse to start organizing the files and tidying up when Doburoku caught her. "You should go, Mamori-chan."

"Are you sure?" There was the usual after practice debris littered around the clubhouse, not to mention some of the Deimon team, including Sena and Monta. Her mind was already making a list of the work that still needed to be done before she could leave, and she was reluctant to depart without taking care of it. Among other things, it would make people suspicious.

"I will take care of things here." Doburoku was also examining the clubhouse. "Musashi-kun was absent today. He was busy, but you should go and deliver the practice notes to him before it becomes too late."

Mamori exhaled in relief. Doburoku had given her the perfect excuse. "Yes, of course." She went and gathered her papers together. "If you'll excuse me." Doburoku gave her a nod and a gesture of dismissal. She said a quick farewell to Sena and the others, then ducked out the door.

**_Author's Note:_**_ Bit of a side note. But we'll get back to Hiruma next chapter, so nobody worry!  
_


End file.
